Falling
by MooMoogle
Summary: Fifteen years had passed happily in Narnia. Spare Oom had only been a distant memory, some place we had been thrown accidentally. This was where we belonged. This was home. [Edmund POV after the Golden Age when the Pevensies return to England]


_Ahaha...Pure fluffy angst is all. It doesn't flow well, and I know that. I have writer's block, remember? Besides, I'm trying to put of my OC ficcu... . There may be typos (please point them out ')...But, review please!_

There was silence.

Cruel, twisted, silence as we lay there, unmoving, on the foreign wood floor.

I remember how carefree and naïve we had been, riding through the Western Wood that chilly fall afternoon, pursuing the White Stag of wishes. We never suspected anything out of the ordinary. We had no reason to. Fifteen years had passed happily in Narnia. England was no longer home. The word was forgotten completely. Spare Oom had only been a distant memory, some place we had been thrown accidentally. This was where we belonged. This was home.

I remember how Phillip had struggled the whole way there. He was growing old, even for a Horse, after all, his endurance having worn down to his limits. He was panting, gasping for breath through the cinch, no matter how loose I had managed to leave it. I had slowed him to a stop there, so he could gather himself.

I always wondered if that had been the reason why we were thrown back. If I had just hardened my heart and ignored my horse's ragged breaths for a mere few moments, Lucy would not have spotted the lamppost. We would have no agreed to go back after her. We would still be in Narnia.

But I did not. My heart had blossomed for my long friend, and I had let him stop.

That's when Lucy set off in pursuit of whatever her curiosity had set her to.

I guess none of us really paid attention to the change when we stumbled from the land dancing with so much life to the wooden, harsh floor of the wardrobe. When we did notice our voices—which were growing smaller and loosing their deeper demeanor—echoed in the small spot, and the sudden racks of coats, it had been too late. Lucy had stumbled, falling forward onto the floor, Susan collapsing beside her. I had been shoved close behind, the ground catching up to meet me rather painfully, my arms extended in front of me. I had never felt so lost or confused, finding myself in such a small, stuffy room and dressed in such peculiar clothing.

When I looked up to see Peter sprawled and groaning at his rough landing, he was not the Peter I was used to. He was shorter (not that he was still tall anyways), and _so much younger_. His face was clean shaven, his hair shorter—I gingerly reached up to feel my own, and found it short as well—but what irked me beyond anything, he looked afraid…confused. My brother was never afraid. He was never confused.

The only thing that I found refuge in was his eyes. They were still brimming with the wisdom and nobility he held within them… Despite the fear layering above it.

I looked back at Susan and Lucy. My little sister was trembling, and in fact was very little indeed, her once long, silky, sun kissed hair that she had so prized was now short and limp. Gingerly, she touched her odd clothing, something like a light going off in her eyes. "We've come back," she whispered.

All past memories began hitting themselves against me fleetingly, and I realized, some how, we were in _England_, and that Spare Oom was not Spare Oom at all, but a spare room in the Professor's mansion. And we had been sent here to escape the Air Raids. And Lucy had found Narnia through the wardrobe…

Or did she?

What if…it had been a dream? It was so unimaginable and so thrilling, perhaps it was just coincidence. It was impossible.

I looked again at my brother. This time, he had composed himself, and met my gaze.

Did I still hate him?

No…no I didn't. I did _not_. He was my brother, and I loved him as a brother should. I realized that a long time ago, when I hadn't known it for so many years _here_, but _somewhere else_ I _had_ come across that knowledge. When I had been so alone; heavy, chilling metal clasping my ankles; surrounded by a wicked sort of winter—a season, I realized, I loathed for that reason; my life at the hands of-

That had been real. I knew it was. It was too vivid and painful to be a dream.

But there were other things--better things--that were real. I remembered the embraces from my sisters I had longed so much for when I was reunited with them. I remembered Peter's embrace later that evening; later, but never late. I remembered Orieus teaching me how to fight with a sword, and Tumnus forcing me to study in the confines of the library in the Cair. I remembered Phillip teaching me how to ride, first in the saddle, and then bareback; and such a dear friend he had been. So many dear friends we had had…

And the few to each of us that had been more.

And…I remembered Aslan.

With a cry, I flung myself back into the wardrobe, tears splashing down my face when, instead of the Wood and dear Phillip come to greet me, I hit harshly against the solid back of the furniture.

'_The only wood in here is the back of the wardrobe.'_

"_No_!" I cried, slamming my fists against the barrier. It was there! I knew it was! I was just there! "_No!_" I could hear Lucy beside me, sobbing as she, too, denied the plain, stupid slab of lifeless wood before us. It was childish, what both us were doing, but the tears came unbidden as we collapsed in a heap in the corner, sobbing and holding each other as though the world had ended.

In a way, it had.

Names of the people we had left behind reeled through my head, my cries turning bitter as I held my little sister, grieving for our loss. Susan fell beside us, screaming denials with such hate and disbelief I had never seen her behold. Peter was beside her shortly, holding her quietly until the sobs racking her body turned silent. Only my own and Lucy's cries echoed in the small space we were scrunched in. Peter always cried silently. I hated him in that brief moment for it.

"No…no…"

Finally, we reduced to hiccupping sobs. Peter had left and taken Susan with him. She had followed, the mirth and life vanished from her eyes, her movements almost lifeless. Lucy's were just sad. There were really no words for the grief and sorrow I had witnessed from my little sister that day as I cradled her in my arms, giving and receiving comfort at the same time.

Peter came back alone. He glanced once at me, before receiving Lucy. She let him carry her out of exhaustion. He was probably putting her to bed or something like that.

Left alone with no intention of following my brother, I curled up, bringing my knees to my chest. I felt so small. So out of place. I was a man trapped in a child's body. "No…"

When Peter came back again, I gave no signs of giving in as Susan and Lucy had done. I remained huddled in the corner, staring at him with forlorn eyes. I was determined to wait until I fell back into my home, no matter how long.

He put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I flinched and shied away, trembling.

"Come on, Ed," he murmured softly. I saw the tears pouring from his eyes. I was not about to be dissuaded. "There's no use staying here."

I suddenly felt suffocated. I choked and gasped, shaking my head hurriedly. "No," I moaned, pushing back against the firm back of the wardrobe. Still, I didn't protest too much once he had me in his arms. I refused to walk away—it felt like I forgotten how to—so he cradled me in his arms as he had done so often, leaving me clinging to his neck, crying quietly as I watched the door shut and the wardrobe disappear.

Night came too quickly. The Macready had taken one look at our ashen faces and proclaimed us sick and confined us to our beds. Not that we stayed in our beds. It wasn't too long before I found myself in Peter's bed, nestled close beside my brother. I didn't doubt Lucy had joined Susan.

I hated to see my brother cry. He never did. He was always strong. But the tears continued to wash down his face long into the night. I rested my head on his chest, an occasional sob forcing itself from my throat. Perhaps Ms. Macready was right. Maybe we were sick. I sure felt like it.

---

It should have been a joyous reunion. It should have. It was, for a fleeting moment.

But when I saw the Cair in ruin, my happiness crumbled to equal it. We explored the treasure room, filled with so many things of wealth. I dug through it, finding so many things that I had held so dearly as King, gently setting them aside before plunging back into the heaping piles.

At one point, I had to stop and bite my lip from crying out. It consisted of six leather strips, each one embellished with sparkling jewels that reflected the light of my torch brilliantly and sending multicolored specks across the molding walls. The clasps holding them together were of pure silver, a foreign script carved delicately into the metal.

It was one of Phillip's halters.

The item had outlived my dear, dear friend. The armor surrounding us had managed through what Orieus could not. Books filled with so much knowledge gave it longer than Tumnus ever could. And the overgrown trees outside had flourished with a life so dead compared to those of the old Dryads.

They were memories…And they were not enough.

I held the leather to my nose. It smelled sweet and musty. A few hairs brushed off onto my face. I held them up to light. Though slightly grey, they were undoubtedly chestnut. I stuffed them into my pocket discreetly.

Someone said it was time to go. I turned. They each had their gifts. I was left with all that remained of my horse.

I was his boy. I was lost without him.

I only nodded curtly, hesitating once, glancing once more at the halter. It sparkled as the light turned again on it. My vision was blurring—not a good sign. Quickly, I fled up the stairs before my siblings could see. I didn't want them to know I cared. I didn't want them to know that I was grieving for the lost time in our country. Was all of Narnia in ruin now? Was the once magnificent Cair Paravel the only remainder of this country?

Had Aslan perished with it?

I almost felt no purpose left here.

Then we met Caspian.

---

A year later, I was leaning against the rail of the _Dawn Treader_, Lucy at my right, Eustace at my left. Reepicheep was sitting happily on the rail, chattering to Lucy, her attention taken. Eustace was staring off into oblivion. I was looking down at my feet, not really feeling anything at all.

How was it…that centuries passed in the miserable year in England the first time, and now only a few years had passed in the same amount of our time? It wasn't fair…

But that seemed of such little meaning compared to when we stood at the end of the world, Aslan before us.

"You're too old."

Tears filled both my and Lucy's eyes as we were told we were to never see Narnia again…no Narnia, no magic, no life.

"Why?" I rasped finally, the meaning behind the questioning ominous. The great eyes of Him turned to me, the amber hue glimmering with such light. I felt like crying out.

"Peace, Edmund." I bowed my head, humbled by my mere name being spoken. "You will see me again."

Someday. Somehow.

I fell on the bed with such a rush, I gasped. The first thing that swam into view was my sister, gazing at me. She did not cry—in fact, she looked justified. Calm. A little sad, but calm nonetheless. Surprisingly, I felt similar.

Fleetingly, I glanced back at the detailed painting that we had fallen into. I chewed thoughtfully on the inside of my cheek.

How much time had passed in that simple second now?

---

Seven years passed.

Each time the year became evident—the eve of my last day in Narnia. I had not found Aslan yet. I had not found that same sense of satisfaction, that same of sense of belonging. I longed for it…So much I longed for it…

Peter and I were waiting for the train. I glanced at him. We were so old now. I was nineteen—he was twenty two. He still held the air of nobility about him; the High King without his country. I bit my lip, running my hands through my hair. He glanced at me sympathetically. He knew exactly what day it was.

I felt his arm wrap itself around my shoulders, pulling me into his one armed hug. I leaned into it, sighing. Susan had just plain forgotten it. She hated this day because she thought I mourned for nothing. Maybe that was why she had refused to come with us to the station.

"Easy, Ed," he soothed, stroking my hair. "He'll come soon. I promise." I breathed in heavily, closing my eyes as I nodded. I knew that somewhere deep down…It just felt good to have him say it. Peter never lied if he could help it.

He grinned, glad to see me enlightened, and it was that simple gesture that let faint traces of a smile tug at my lips. I ached, but the pain had been momentarily forgotten. I smiled, narrowing my eyes at my brother in mock irritation, but he only shook his head, a quirky smirk crossing him, before he caught my shoulder, clasping it firmly. I looked up him, the mirth of the situation fading into seriousness.

"Edmund…you don't grieve alone." I closed my eyes.

"I feel alone."

"Only eight people know of Narnia in the world. Yes, Ed, eight—even if Susan doesn't want to admit it, she knows Narnia." I was looking away; he jostled my shoulder to receive due attention.

"You do not grieve alone. _Remember that_."

I gazed at my brother, and for a fleeting moment, I swore I saw a mixture of the boy Peter clash with High King Peter. Two opposites, and yet, he was forced to play both roles.

Maybe I wasn't alone. Even now.

"I'll remember that, Peter." He smiled. I couldn't help but mirror such an endearing gesture.

"Thank you, Edmund."

There was a faint call. I looked up and saw the train coming.


End file.
